Kamikaze
by chgirl
Summary: Banzai! Ask Bobby, if you don't know. Stands alone, but could be an oblique conclusion to In Transit and Proximity.


**Disclaimer: **I don't own these characters, I'm just having fun -- they belong to Dick Wolf.

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**Kamikaze**

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_kamikaze: 1. a Japanese pilot trained to make a suicidal crash attack, 2. a person or thing that behaves in a wildly reckless or destructive manner,  
3. a drink consisting of vodka, lime juice & triple sec_

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"Make any resolutions for the new year, Bobby?"

It was mid-morning, and Eames was going through a mountainous pile of end/beginning-of-the-year paperwork across from Goren, who was sifting through a similar drift. It was going to be a long day. For more reasons than this pile.

He looked up from his papers briefly and cleared his throat. "No. Unless you consider keeping my appointments with Olivet a resolution. Something I don't want to do, but . . . " He grimaced.

She nodded a few times and smiled. "I'd say that counts."

He returned to his paperwork for a few more seconds and asked, "How about you?"

_No turning back now, Alex, just get it out there._ She calmly said, "I don't usually make any, but this year . . . yeah, I'm making one." She paused for a few seconds, exhaled, and said matter-of-factly, "I've resolved to finally tell this guy . . . that I've been madly in love with him for a long time." She made a "yikes!" expression as she finished her sentence.

The momentary look of utter dismay on Bobby's face as his head snapped up gave her a twinge of satisfaction. Her few lingering traces of doubt evaporated with that look.

More throat-clearing. Raised eyebrows.

"….Wow . . . that's quite a …hmm, wow," he choked out. He had regained his facial composure, but words were coming a little harder. He gave a wan smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.

She pretended not to notice, shuffled more paperwork. Shrugged. "Well, I figured, why wait? I'm not getting any younger, and he doesn't know about the torch I'm carrying. At this point, what have I got to lose?" She grinned broadly at him. "You know me -- what I'm missing in the size department I make up for in nerve."

He swallowed and nodded his head hesitantly, while leveling an intense stare at his papers. _If he looks any harder they're going to spontaneously combust, _she thought as she suppressed a smile.

"Well, good luck with that." He suddenly jumped up and made it halfway down the hall before turning around to ask if she wanted anything.

She shook her head and watched him lope off, gave a cat-that-ate-the-canary grin to herself, and went back to work.

//

//

Late in the day she shut her laptop and rubbed the heels of her hands across her eyes. "Stick a fork in me -- I'm done," she said as she stood up and arched her back. "Mindless deskwork: the third circle of Hell." She inwardly winced as soon as the words were out of her mouth, half-expecting to hear Bobby correct her with something to the effect that the seventh circle was really more appropriate or some such thing, but he didn't this evening. Thankfully.

He pushed his chair back from the desk and went to his locker. "Want to go to Beekman's before you head home?"

She feigned indecision, then said, "Sure. I could use some liquid fortification before I take the bull by the horns, so to speak," she said as she flexed her bare arms and tried to look suitably jovial.

He actually looked a little green as he tried to grin at her. Raised the eyebrows. "Tonight." A little throat-clearing. "Already. Wow…you really aren't wasting any time, are you? You've. . . clearly given this a lot of thought."

"Yeah, well, I'll see him this evening," she said truthfully. "And if I wait, I may put it off again. I wouldn't want to break the only resolution I've made this year, would I?" she chirped, grabbing her coat.

She cast a sidelong glance at Bobby, who looked like, yes, breaking that resolution would be just fine by him – just dandy. She watched him close his locker and mechanically straighten his desk.

She headed off to the elevator. "Downstairs in a few," she called over her shoulder. He glanced up with a dispirited look and watched her figure retreat down the hall.

//

//

He noticed with mild surprise that she had effortlessly kept up with his stride all the way to the nearby bar; in fact, it was more a question of him keeping up with her for a change. He hadn't seen her this animated in a long time; she was fairly buzzing with energy. _High excitement all around_, he thought morosely. _Who __is__ this guy?_

He was in for another surprise when the bartender came by for their order.

"Pitcher of kamikazes," she ordered, no hesitation. She looked over at Bobby. "Don't worry – you'll get a glass," she said, as if that explained everything. She smirked sideways at him as her hair swung back. His stomach did a flip-flop – her eyes, her smile, that gesture of hers could do that to him. She continued, "It just popped into my head. This resolution of mine – it's sort of a suicide mission, you know? Could be great, or just might screw up a good friendship." She focused back on the bartender.

The explanation didn't make him any happier – it was just another reminder of the unpleasant fact that she loved someone. . . else.

_Stop being so maudlin -- she's entitled to a life. _He didn't have to like it, though.

"These are good," he said, gesturing at his drink, trying to make some sort of conversation, "Never had one, actually." _Wow, way to go, that's scintillating stuff._ He was racking his normally fertile brain for any subject other than her impending evening plans, but nothing so far had come to him. Circuits were frying, so to speak. He downed another large gulp.

They thankfully started chatting about a pending case, then the topic turned towards cars, and thinking about something else, something he and Eames shared an interest in, he found he could finally relax a little. He began to settle comfortably into what he inwardly termed "Alex time": moments alone with her off the clock, treasured because of their rarity. He took pleasure now in her wry wit, her fierce charm, the way she would sometimes glance at him with her large cola-colored eyes.

His mind started wandering.

_I love her._

_It's too late to do anything about it._

_What would I have done about it? _

_It would have been too difficult. What about work?_

_I think about her constantly when she's not around._

Consciousness of these feelings had gradually crept in after the dramatic end to his undercover stint. After she froze him out, he became fully aware of what he had taken for granted, what he had chosen to jeopardize. But things had warmed up since, and he had gone back to known territory: sticking with the status quo. The easier, less risky route of putting any pursuit of a relationship into the background.

_And now here we are._

//

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The empty pitcher sat between them on the bar. Emptying it hadn't taken as long as either of them had thought. They still nursed glasses half-filled with icy dregs.

Conversation had tapered off. Alex was quietly crunching her remaining ice cubes, one by one. Bobby stared, transfixed by little evanescent puffs of cold fog emerging and disappearing from between her lips.

He was wandering in a bit of a kamikaze haze, mesmerized, when she spoke.

"Well, it's that time. I'd better cowboy up and tell him."

_What did she say? Tell who – what?_

As he replayed her words to himself, his head cleared. He spun around on the bar stool. "What -- he's here?" he said, a little louder than intended. He critically surveyed the several customers still hanging around, none of whom he would have pegged as a possibility. "Where?"

"At the bar."

He looked around. There was a 20-something couple and an elderly gentleman sitting at cocktail tables _in_ the bar, but not _at_ the bar. Here _at_ the bar, they were the only occupants. He looked back at her, frowning a little with confusion. "Did you mean seated at the bar? Because we're the only ones…."

She leveled a bemused gaze at him for a few seconds. Then, with a look of mock awe, she said in a high-pitched voice, "Wow, you must be a _detective_ or something!"

He looked back at her, trying to keep up. The only possibility that came to mind was so unthinkable, so improbable that he kept trying to see where he was missing something. But after a few seconds of spinning his wheels, he could only . . . .

"Me…?"

He blinked, looked away – then glanced back at her.

Swallowed hard. Cleared his throat.

"You're -- "

"-- in love."

"With me."

He stated it flatly, too stunned to gasp out anything else. Blood was rushing in his ears; his heart was pounding so hard that it took effort just to remain upright. He closed his eyes in an attempt to regain composure.

He felt her lean past him, swaying into him just a little. Close, close enough to feel her hair sweep his cheek, to imagine pushing his hands into its warmth and burying his face in it. She stopped with her head next to his.

He shivered as he felt icy air slide around one last ice cube and around one word, breathed into his ear. Shivered again when the feeling behind that word really registered.

"_Madly_. . ."

//

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End file.
